Golden Years
by Corky the Quirk
Summary: A collection of stories about the poets during their younger years. Hope you enjoy!
1. Finding Friends and Flinging Fists

**Author's Note:** So this is just a little idea that popped into my head a while ago...I don't know if it's really any good, but I found it to be kind of humorous :] Hope you enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** Sadly, I don't own any of the poets...yet.

* * *

An eleven year old Neil gulped, glancing around him at the sea of boys and parents. His father was speaking to the Headmaster, some guy named Nolan, and his mom was off with a group of women, gossiping about this and that. First days at Welton were killer, especially when you couldn't find anyone you knew.

It was as he was scanning the crowd for a familiar face that a fist collided with his upper arm. He flinched, jumping away from his assailant, and rubbed what was soon to be a bruise. "Ow," he complained, glaring at the boy standing beside him.

He had pointed features and was sporting a confident smirk. "Good," he spoke. "You aren't crying. We can be friends, now. There was an annoying square over there that just starting bawling. Bootlicker." He presented his hand for a shake and boasted, "I'm Charlie Dalton."

Neil raised an eyebrow and cautiously shook Charlie's hand. "Neil Perry." He glanced behind Charlie to see another boy, this one much shorter and quieter. He was glancing around Charlie's side, eyes magnified by glasses, his hair curling in different directions.

Charlie noticed Neil's gaze and turned. "Oh," Charlie exclaimed, as if just remembering that boy was behind him. "This is Stephen Meeks. Meeks, this is Neil."

Stephen Meeks rolled his eyes at Charlie's authoritative ways. "I'm able to hear Charlie," he said, then returned his eyes to Neil. "Nice to meet you Neil." He nodded his head in greeting, extending his hand as well.

Neil smiled. "You too…Meeks." He wasn't used to calling boys by their last names, but if that's what they wanted, he saw no reason not to.

"Meeks was a good sport, as well, not a tear," Charlie explained, "So we can all be friends."

A voice rose above the din of the crowd. "MEEKS!"

The three boys glanced around, wondering just where the voice had sprung from. It didn't take them long to see a tall, lanky boy with a buzz cut sifting his way through the crowd. Charlie automatically raised a fist before Meeks grabbed his arm. "You don't need to punch him Charlie," he warned, giving him a look. "That's Gerard Pitts. I've known him my whole life. He won't even notice you've hit him."

Charlie looked slightly disappointed when he lowered his arm, but relented anyway, a scowl spreading across his face for just a second.

Gerard Pitts bounded up to the small group, a silly grin plastered on his mouth. "Hey Meeks! How was your summer?" It was apparent they had gone to school with each other before.

Meeks shrugged his shoulders. "Not too bad, lots of time with the family." He jerked his thumb at the other two boys. "This is Neil Perry and Charlie Dalton."

"I'm Gerard. Gerard Pitts." He reached out and took Neil and Charlie's hands from their sides and pumped them up and down.

Charlie had one eyebrow raised high as he leaned over to Meeks and whispered, "You're sure I can't punch him?"

*

The newly formed group was making their way to the dorms, interested to see who they would be stuck rooming with for the year, when they came across what appeared to be a fight in the courtyard. Charlie held up a hand to halt his friends and he watched curiously as a few older Weltonites pushed a boy their age around in a circle.

"C'mon guys, stop it," the young boy pleaded. He held up his hands as he stumbled around, brown hair mussed, but posed no real threat to the bigger boys.

"Charlie," Neil spoke up urgently, "Are your fists good for other things besides finding friends?"

Charlie rolled his eyes and smirked at Neil. "Do you even have to ask?" He confidently headed over to the trio of older students that were harassing one of his classmates. "Excuse me gentlemen, but what the hell do you think you're doing?"

Neil, Meeks, and Pitts stared on in amazement at Charlie's bold words. He was dead.

And, sure enough, Charlie and the other boy that had previously been shoved around returned ten minutes later, bruised and battered, but grinning all the same. "Guys, this is Knox Overstreet. He can be our friend as well."

Neil rolled his eyes. Apparently all of their friends had to be approved by Charlie. Not that he minded. It was a well rounded group that had been slapped together so far.

Strolling into their dormitory, the boys veered to the left, where a sheet with names and room numbers was posted. Charlie and Knox ended up being together, Meeks was with a boy named George Hopkins, and Pitts was with someone whose name he couldn't pronounce. He groaned. "Great, now I'm going to have to worry all the time about messing up their name."

Meeks pat him on the back. "It's okay, Pitts."

"Yeah, they have a weird name, and you're weird looking, so everything'll balance out," Charlie assured him with a smirk, receiving what could only be explained as a motherly glare from behind Meeks' glasses.

Neil ran a finger down the sheet, finding his name and mumbling, "Richard Cameron. 231."

Charlie's hand was suddenly grasping Neil's elbow in a death grip. "We can't be friends with him, Neil! That's the crier!"

Neil rolled his eyes, shrugging Charlie off good-naturedly. "Charlie, the poor kid's probably just as scared and alone as we are," he pointed out.

"So let him make his own friends!" Charlie hollered as the group stared down the hall in the direction of the rooms. Out of room 231 a small, orange-haired boy with an abundance of freckles, stumbled, looking completely lost. "Yeah," Charlie affirmed. "That's him. I say you fake allergies to gingers." Meeks continued to glare from under his glasses until Charlie realized what hue Meeks' hair was.

Neil shook his head. "Charlie, forget it. Richard needs friends too, and I say he's in." It was odd already considering them as a group, but he felt so comfortable around these boys that it was natural.

Knox, with that goofy grin of his plastered to his face, nodded. "Sounds good to me."

Pitts and Meeks, nodded. Pitts, to follow the herd, and Meeks, seeking justice for all orange haired boys across the world.

Charlie crossed his arms and grumbled, "Fine. But I'm telling you…the guy looks like a total nosebleed."

* * *

**Author's Note:** So yeah...that's a take on the possibility of how the Poets met each other...I figure if another young DPS story pops into my head, I'll just post it here, but as of right now...I don't have too many ideas. But I hope you enjoyed it! Thanks for reading :D


	2. Running With Scissors

**Author's Note:** So, this is a really short, random, kind of AU one-shot. I got the idea when I read a text that said "He won't talk to me! He just communicates with scissors!" and the idea of the Poets with art supplies popped into my brain. :)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the poets, as previously stated...*tear tear*

* * *

"Okay," Meeks began, sighing in exhaustion and running a hand through his hair. "Whose idea was it to put Charlie in charge of the scissors?"

No one answered his question however, as chaos now reigned in the study room, and Steven was the only one that had not gone completely insane. One would think that a group of fourteen year olds could keep it together and act a little more mature. Then again, these were Meeks' friends, and they weren't exactly known for their mature ways.

"We're supposed to be working on our Art History project," he yelled, trying to bring the boys together to complete the task at hand. Their teacher had assigned them into groups of six, and had foolishly placed Meeks, Pitts, Knox, Charlie, Neil, and Cameron in the same one. Big mistake.

"Oh. My. God." Neil shouted in excitement from the corner, drawing Meeks' attention. Neil had his head buried in a rather large cardboard box containing art supplies. When he surfaced he shouted, "GLITTER!" Small, colorful flecks fell around him, dotting his hair and sticking to his clothes. He had two handfuls of the stuff and skipped about the room, throwing it here and there, saying he was a fairy spreading his joy.

Meeks rolled his eyes before looking away, gasping at what he saw. "Charlie! Stop! You can't run around when you're handling scissors!" he screeched.

"Mwhahaha!" Charlie laughed evilly, continuing to run in small circles, for he had drank a bit too much chocolate milk that day and was now high off of the sugar. "But it makes me feel _dangerous_," he growled, one eyebrow raised.

"Fine," Meeks huffed, crossing his arms, "But don't come running to me when you stab your eyes out."

Charlie ignored Meeks and sprinted over to Cameron, who had somehow been stuck to the wall earlier in the evening with super glue, and snipped off a lock of his hair.

"Mmmm!" Cameron whined, struggling to free himself. "Stmmp mmming mm mmair!" Multiple chunks of hair were missing from Cameron's head, and, if things continued to progress, there was a good chance he would be bald by the end of the night.

"Hey!" Charlie scolded, placing his hands on his hips. "When I want your opinion I'll remove the duct tape. Capeesh?"

"Mmmm!" Cameron answered, his face glowing red with irritation.

Charlie smirked. "That's what I thought," he said, patting what was left of Cameron's hair before bouncing away to cut off some of Neil's hair as well.

"Gah!" Meeks screamed when he noticed Knox and Pitts in the middle of an intense marker fight. "Guys! What are you doing?! Those are permanent!" Not only had Knox and Pitts marked up each others' arms, but they had each drawn intricate designs on their own faces as well. Charlie popped up, snipped off some of Knox's hair, left Pitts alone since he was much too tall, and bounded off to find another victim.

Knox stopped what he was doing, staring blankly over at Meeks. "Permanent?" he asked, as if just realizing it, not even noticing that Charlie had stolen some of his hair. However, while Knox was distracted, Pitts took this opportunity to lurch forward, scribbling down Knox's arm in a lovely shade of mauve. Knox grimaced, completely forgetting about Meeks, and shrieking, "On guard!"

"GLITTER!" Neil exclaimed again as he pranced past, spraying everyone in the vicinity with a bout of sparkles that would most likely never all be cleaned up. Kids, years from now, would be using the study lounge for studying or fooling around or whatever it is future kids do, and they would look down at the floor, wondering where that one tiny piece of glitter that caught their eye had come from.

When Meeks felt a hand on his shoulder, he turned to see a boy around their age with floppy, light brown hair and brilliant blue eyes smiling up at him. "D-don't worry, Meeks," the mystery boy stammered shyly, he gestured over to the piece of poster board. "I finished the project for us."

Meeks raised an eyebrow before removing his glasses and rubbing his eyes. When he replaced his glasses he realized the boy wasn't actually a hallucination. "Who are you?"

The boy blinked. "I'm T-todd Anderson."

Meeks pouted his lips in thought. "Oh." He extended his hand to shake. "Well, welcome to Hellton."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Mwhaha, I just had to add Todd...I missed him in the boys' younger years, and figured he could magically show up in this chapter/one-shot thing. :D


	3. Tall Tale

**Author's Note:** So I don't know where this idea really popped up from, but here it is. Hope you enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Dead Poets...I just kidnap them for my own amusement.

* * *

Meeks blinked in disbelief, much like the other boys surrounding a fifteen-year-old Charlie Dalton. He raised his hand, trying to quiet the awe-inspired babble around him. Knox and Pitts had their mouths hanging open, and Cameron was making indecipherable bleating noises, his face burning red from shock. Neil was off completing some assignment for an advanced class his father had pushed on him, but Meeks was certain his reaction would be relatively close to that of his friends'.

"So," Meeks spoke, adjusting his glasses, "You actually…did _it_?"

Charlie smirked triumphantly, raising an eyebrow and puffing out his newly brawny chest. He had decided to take up rowing that year after Cameron had beat him at arm wrestling, which Charlie would _not_ stand for. So far his new muscle development appeared to have its benefits. "Oh, I did it," he replied smoothly, straightening out his shirt, a grin plastered to his face. He chuckled, wiggling his eyebrows. "Got her to scream my name. Not that I expected anything less." He winked at his small audience.

"Who was it?" Knox gasped in curiosity.

It was as Charlie crowed the girl's name in pride that Neil entered the room. He snorted. "Are you telling them about the incident at the movie theater where you accidentally fondled her shoulder instead of her chest, Slick?" he asked, leaning against a nearby wall as his giggles grew. "I ran into her while buying some school supplies in town this morning. She says if you don't wizen up you're going to die a virgin." Neil plopped into Meeks' desk chair, sighing as he finally caught his breath, wiping at the tears in his eyes.

The four boys that had previously been so intrigued by Charlie now slowly turned to stare at the boy, brows furrowed and frowns marring their faces. Charlie was redder than the lightning bolts he was so oddly fond of and his chest was completely deflated. After a few moments of resembling a goldfish, Charlie sputtered, "Damn it, Neil!" and vacated the dorm room as fast as his legs could take him.

Neil blinked in surprise, glancing around at his friends, "What'd I say?"

.fin.


	4. TitusMagnus

**Author's Note:** Okay, first, I'd like to thank KPtheMoviesaholic for the idea of Neil and Charlie at camp, second, I'd like to thank Blackbirdox for creative consultation. :) Next, I'd like to apologize for how short this is; and last, I'd like to tell you that I have no idea where the actual idea came from...Lord help us if this is what I continue to come up with when I'm bored...

**Disclaimer:** DPS is not mine :(

* * *

A fifteen-year-old Charlie Dalton was happily displaying his manhood for any and all other campers currently in the shower. He had hit his growth spurt halfway through eighth grade. Well, his pubic growth spurt anyway, and he wasn't shy in the least to show himself off a tad. Instead of facing the wall that the shower heads were attached to like all of the other normal boys attending camp, Charlie was facing outward, purposefully stretching in ways that flattered him.

Neil, who stood awkwardly beside his best friend, was burning red. "Honestly Charlie, can't you be humble for once in your life? This is embarrassing…"

Charlie raised an eyebrow, deliberately turning and facing his lanky friend. "Neil, it's not my fault I'm so well hung." He patted Neil's shoulder, causing Neil to automatically jump away in protest. Charlie rolled his eyes. "I'm going to pleasure women with this baby, Neil; not you." He winked, making a sexual growling noise before brandishing his hand like claws. "That camp counselor…Mallory…talk about a classy chassis…"

Neil blinked in disbelief at Charlie. "You're joking right? You do realize that she's five years older than you and will never be interested, no matter how endowed you think you are."

Charlie rolled his eyes. "Neil, Neil, Neil. I don't _think_ I'm endowed. I _know_ I'm endowed." He gestured to his pelvic region. "We should name him. Build a shrine for him. _Worship_ him."

"You need serious help," Neil warned, shutting off his shower head and grabbing his towel, wrapping it around his waist before exiting the bathroom and heading back towards the cabin he was stationed in.

Charlie shrugged. "Well when there's a religion based around Titus-Magnus, you'll be sorry," he mumbled, finishing up his shower.

The small freckled boy with the glasses on Charlie's other side cleared his throat. "That's Latin for 'impressive penis'…" He wiped at his glasses with his towel, turning his shower head off and beginning to dry himself.

Charlie grinned. "And _that_ is why you're my favorite, Meeks."


	5. Stop and Stare

**Author's Note:** What is this? I don't even know. It came out of nowhere, makes no sense, and leads to slight (or more than slight) implications of Chameron activity. Have fun!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own them...although since this fic takes place before Todd came to Welton, I am holding him captive and we're enjoying a nice cup of hot chocolate and watching Glee together because we're awesome like that.

* * *

It's times like these when Gerard Pitts just feels like throwing his hands up in the air and saying, "I was abducted by aliens!" just to break the tension.

Charlie and Cameron are, once again, glaring across the table at one another. Both are holding tightly onto the edge, their knuckles white from their grip. They lean over the plates and goblets on the table, eye to eye, despite Charlie's height disadvantage, and just stare.

The rest of the boys sit in anxious anticipation as they watch their two friends silently battle it out. It's only a matter of time before one of them wins and one of them loses. Neil is on the edge of his seat, as is Knox. Their fingers twitch as they count the seconds that sputter by slowly, like cars running out of fuel, puttering along, trying to reach a destination close enough to see, but far enough that the driver knows he'll never make it.

Steven is bored with the whole thing. This happens every lunch and dinner period, and sometimes—no, most of the time—outside of class, during study sessions, and quite often on the front lawn.

Then, just as suddenly as the war began, with a blink of an eye it's over. Cameron growls to himself in frustration, banging his hand loudly on the table and receiving a disapproving look from Nolan. Cameron blushes and sinks down onto the wooden bench, stabbing at the mystery meat with his fork.

Charlie blinks finally as well, a smirk easily sliding across his lips as he leans away from the table and plops gracefully back into his seat. His eyes never leave Cameron's persistently reddening face, and his smirk begins to form into an all-out grin of triumph. "You know what this means," he says to his ginger roommate.

"Yes, I know what it means, Charlie," Cameron grinds out between his teeth, shoving a scoop of suspicious looking mashed potatoes into his yap.

Charlie runs a hand through his hair and smiles coolly. "Then we'll settle it later in our room."

The rest of the boys assume that these staring contests are merely ways for Charlie to get Cameron to finish up his homework, and although that's how things started, they've since drastically changed.

Charlie loves it.

And regardless of how much Cameron complains, he never turns down a contest.

Even though he's never won.

Then again, maybe in the end, both of them do. 


End file.
